


He could not

by carefulfleshgnawer



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:51:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulfleshgnawer/pseuds/carefulfleshgnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torn apart, ripping himself to shreds. It`s not even egoism anymore, it`s just plain sad. A man with broken arms is not the same as a bird with broken wings, and yet no one would heal that wicked soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He could not

If one day he were to disappear, he`d take his destiny as it would come. Not because he was greater(even if he used to believe that), but because he was just that stubborn.

A man he was, born into a world where that chatter of streets was replaced by clanging of steel. The stuffiness of the crowds - by empty rooms and sprung leaps, soaring from one ledger to another.

And if he would fall, he just wouldn`t be the apex predator any more. A tough price to tough mercenaries, counting knives, counting bodies.

Nurtured by egoism born of needless praise, that man was something so immense, so silent in his loudness, that all fell to his feet just by the gleam in his eye. The gleam that had meant a hole in their sinews and hearts to a many.

That man leaped from the pure faith that had been put in him, he leaped into all the things that had brought him there, the things weighing down his sloping shoulders.

But the faith was not enough to break the fall of the mighty eagle, a black consciousness floating through Jerusalem.

The man`s eyes grew hollow, and his steps turned bleak, leaps turned to bare twitches of his fingers,

and he knew he had lost.

For once in the man`s life, pride wasn`t going to fix the problem, wasn`t going to set things straight, because broken wings, just like broken skin, leave scars behind and who knew if the eagle would fly again.

And he was drowning in the regret, his eyes refused to leave the ground, and in the nights, in the towers he`d howl at the night sky, babbling vague curses and lament no one could hear.

He`d pray for a day someone might tell him that he could go on. He`d curse the people he regretted. He`d rip at himself, the weak stitches he kept through the days.

But no one would pray for a dying bird, you see.

And a bird with ripped up feathers and visions could never really fly, to make people see him. To push others to believe in him.

On that day, the day in the temple, the day everything changed. Not one, but two fates were pushed into the direction of destruction.

And eyes with no limbs will roll out of the way.

But how could a man who stares at the ground see that it`s over?


End file.
